


Ill-Fated

by TheSightlessSniper



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Gen, M/M, SebaCiel (if you really really really squint), VinDee, inexplicit references to a sexual relationship between two men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 17:26:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9134032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSightlessSniper/pseuds/TheSightlessSniper
Summary: One night, Sebastian stumbles upon a plethora of letters in a hidden away room, and discovers something about the former Earl of Phantomhive that nobody was meant to know.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shiveringshadows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiveringshadows/gifts).



> Written for a small Secret Santa between a few Kuro fans on Tumblr.
> 
> MarrowVersusMarrow, hope you enjoy...whatever this mess is, and Happy New Year! n_n

The room had been quite the discovery.

He had rebuilt the mansion from scratch, repaired it where necessary. Sebastian had thought he knew every inch of it inside and out, down to the very last fleck of flaking paint on the roof where Mey-Rin hunted down the threats to the Phantomhive household, to the permanent burn marks marring the wall backing the oven where Bardroy so frequently blew up dinner for the evening.

A permanent insomniac, Sebastian had to find something to do with his time overnight while the young lord slept. He had read the entire contents of the library several times over. Every object in the house, from the butter knives he slipped up his sleeves to the intricately decorated (and rather useless) vase that sat upon Ciel’s desk in his study, was clean, in perfect position, and placed in the most simultaneously aesthetically pleasing and practical place that it could be. The entire interior of the Phantomhive manor was impeccably tidy.

So stumbling upon the panel in the wall next to the room where the young Lady Elizabeth would stay during her visits was more than a little bit intriguing.

The walls were lined with shelves, each filled with a dust-caked assortment of objects from all around the world. Dolls adorned with tiny silk cheongsams and little painted faces from China. A short, sharp-edged sword gifted by a bladesmith from Japan. A damaged German Dreyse cavalry revolver from 1879. A book in French which upon thumbing through, Sebastian discovered was more than a little bit pornographic and detailing a rather absorbing and sordid tale of an illicit relationship between a man and his much younger male lover. Russian nesting dolls where the last contained a vial of an odourless liquid, likely a discreet and deadly poison. The previous Earl of Phantomhive had certainly seen a lot in his short lifetime, it seemed, and he had evidently collected many trophies from the locales of his missions that all seemed to be squirrelled away in that little hidden room.

Sebastian was in the midst of debating on whether to tell Ciel about the room and its contents when something sticking out another book one shelf down caught his eye. A scrap of paper, headed with the words ‘To my dearest Vincent’, stuck out like a beacon, and with a curious half-smile, Sebastian pulled the letter from the pages and began to read:

 

_To my dearest Vincent…_

_This began as a letter of congratulations to you on your marriage, but as I tried to write such a piece, I found myself unable to finish without the words becoming illegible with anger and upset, or a string of half-hearted lies._

_The memory of your blade-like wit still amuses during lonely afternoons, while the recollection of our nights together, both at Weston and on your once-frequent visits haunt my every dream. As I rise each day, I am reminded of the mornings of awakening to your face inches from mine, your warmth resting against my chest. You only grow more handsome with the advent of each birthday, and I can imagine you will continue to be the Beauty, while I slowly become the Beast. I yearn to hold you in my arms again._

_Even if your interest fades, to be replaced by a real love for your bride, a beauty fit for you in every possible way, know that you will always be the closest and dearest to my heart, and I will love you with every inch of my being until death takes me away in their arms._

_I only hope one day, we will be reborn into a kinder time, where I may love you freely._

_Forever yours,_

_Dee._

 

_Dee_ …Diedrich’s nickname.

The messages…they were between the German Baron and the Earl of Phantomhive.

He moved on to another book on the shelf; that too held letters within its pages. In the next book, there was another letter, and another. He skimmed through every book on the shelf and in each one, he found exchange after exchange between the two old friends, each more ardent than the last.

When there were no books left to search, no object left unturned, he stared at the pile of papers in front of him, stunned. From the time of their attendance at Weston College, up to the year of the Earl of Phantomhive’s demise, there were no less than four hundred letters scattered and concealed in the contents of the shelf, each as ardent and passionate as the next and weaving a tale of forbidden love…until the very last one.

Sealed in an envelope and addressed to Diedrich, the message inside dated December 14th, 1885:

 

_Dear Dee,_

_It feels like years since our last letter, even though it has only been a few weeks._

_Our last tryst lingers in my mind, and more amusingly, on the bark of a tree; your nails have dug scars into the poor sycamore at the edge of the manor’s woodland. Was our coupling that delightful?_

_Unfortunately, this letter does not bring glad tidings._

_I fear Rachel knows. She asked a lot of questions not long after you left the manor, to which I supplied her with answers, though not truthful ones. I attempted to dispel her concerns, claiming that the scrapes from our joining were from a tumble over some tree roots, but I do not think she was convinced._

_This may be my last letter to you. So I want you to know one thing, if nothing else._

_To the ends of the earth and back, to the depth of the deepest oceans and as far as the sky reaches up, I will always love you, my sweet._

_With all the love in the world,_

_Vincent._

 

The butler placed the un-posted letter on top of the rest, shaking his head. An ill-fated affair. A homosexual affair. One that had lasted over a decade, behind the back of his family. Vincent Phantomhive would have taken that once secret with him to the grave if it hadn’t have been for that room betraying it all to a stranger.

Sebastian’s mind suddenly flew to his master. What effects this new information could have on him…

They were surely approaching the last of their missions. They were ever so close to the end, and soon Ciel would have sweet, drawn-out, bloody revenge on those who had committed atrocities to him as a ten-year-old boy, and Sebastian would finally have the carefully crafted meal of a unique soul to momentarily sate his eternal hunger. He could show Ciel the letters, sprinkle his already decadent flavour with even more torment and resentment that would tone down the sickly sweetness that seemed to linger along with his last shreds of innocence and hope. His soul would turn to the most delectable salted caramel, with the deep bitterness of eight-five percent cocoa intermingling with sweet and savoury. He could add an entirely new dimension of flavour to his already delicious next meal…

Rereading Vincent’s last written words, however, his own black heart protested the idea.

Loathed to admit it as he was, it would be a lie to say he wasn’t enjoying the time as the young lord’s butler. His master tortured him constantly with silly tasks, like searching the markets for a specific colour of already exotic fruit, or a book that had long since been out of print purely for the pleasure of saying he owned it. He would make petty comments on his food, ever remarking that what he had made was not satisfactory and for him to do it again. He was an incorrigible, petty, hypocritical boy…every bit the challenge he had always wanted from a contract, and in some silly way, he knew he would miss the boy when he was gone.

Sebastian mused over the delightful flavours that the letters in his hand could impart to his master’s soul…

And then, with a click of his fingers and a small smirk, set the entire bundle ablaze.

What would the fun be in stopping the games now?

**Author's Note:**

> I had a horrific headache most of the time writing this, so it's probably not fantastic. But it was a concept I was interested in exploring anyway. Hope this was alright!


End file.
